


Simple Bodily Response

by Flammenkobold



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bodily Fluids, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Do Not Archive (The Magnus Archives), Double Penetration, Drugged Sex, Experiment gone wrong, Implied Body Horror, Mind Manipulation, Nonbinary Character, Nonconsentacles, Other, Sounding, Spitroasting, Tentacle Monsters, Tentacle Rape, Tentacles, Xeno, implied gore, male genitalia for cel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:42:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27903907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flammenkobold/pseuds/Flammenkobold
Summary: Cel just wanted to have a look at the dead Kraken, really. They did not expect for it to look back - and then some.
Relationships: Metal Kraken/Celiquillithon "Cel" Sidebottom
Comments: 3
Kudos: 19
Collections: Consent Issues Exchange 2020





	Simple Bodily Response

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zai42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zai42/gifts).



They just wanted to have a look, just a tiny peek really, just to see what it was made of, maybe get a glimpse of how it worked. Really, that was all they had wanted, and it wasn't their fault if there had been a shiny red button right there. It should have been dead after all, cut off from main control and out of power. Except it isn't and now they fear they are going to get a more intimate look at the Kraken.

Long tentacles spring from the giant metal head, the old ones shed like scrap metal, and two of them had already wound themselves tight around Cel. They watch in fascination as the other arms do not just breach the skull of the thing but seem to be sprouting directly from the metal hull, without any breaks or stress fissures or leaks in sight. There are far more tentacles than a Kraken should have too.

_ Absolutely fascinating.  _

They flail through the air and it crosses Cel's mind that they are not used to the lack of water and that they might just now be learning their environment like a newborn, just far faster. Growing and learning as they map out the ground and the surrounding air - and Cel.

They are suspended in the air, several tentacles holding them in place, one of them sneaking under their coat.

“If you mind, could you leave the coat intact it’s-” their next words turn into muffled sounds as one of the tentacles inquisitively enters their mouth and Cel can feel it splitting up in there into multiple tendrils. They are running over their tongue and the roof of their mouth, along their teeth and when Cel bites down experimentally they feel chewy like rubber but don’t give way entirely. But it makes the tendrils slither away from their teeth, so there must be some feeling in them and for a moment Cel is too excited over that observation to notice that the tendrils filling their mouth shift back into one strand before it plunges down their throat. Their yell is cut off just like their words were as they gag on the tentacle. And then there is the taste. The tentacle starts to drip something honey sweet and artificial, not just from its tip but all along the bit that is shoved into their mouth. 

Their gums tingle as they’re entire body slowly goes fuzzily numb, the gag reflex ceases and not because they willed it too.

It’s only then that they truly start to panic.

The physical restraints are one thing, but whatever is dripping from the tentacle is affecting their nervous system and they can feel the panic ebb away too against their will. Panic can be good, can be constructive, not often, but sometimes, mostly to keep your head from getting overwhelmed by drugs and Cel knows a little bit about that after too many experiments gone right and some wrong. But their mind and with it their panic being pulled under, getting muffled under a slick, oily film settling over a watery surface.

The tentacle moving under their coat is joined by two more and Cel can hear and feel their coat split, being torn apart, and then the tentacles move on to their shirt, to the rest of their clothes. As if the Kraken tries to seek out their body heat - as if it is trying to crawl under their skin. 

Now there is a horrifying thought that even the artificial sweet fluid still dripping down their throat cannot entirely subdue, that the tentacles will burrow under their flesh like they did with their clothes, flay them open like another torn coat. 

Instead they roam over their body, mapping it out, just like their siblings map out the ground and the air. Cel is shifted, their legs spread open, their arms stretched out to expose their chest, two tentacles running over their nipples, their suction cups lining up over them as another tentacle nudges between their cheeks and  _ ah  _ perhaps it seeks out another kind of exploration, another kind of penetration. Cel lets out a sob and they aren't sure if it's one of relief over not being ripped apart, or one of fear over being violated in a different way.

They don't mind a good tentacle, but these aren't particularly good tentacles - well objectively they are excellent tentacles, fast growing and self-regenerating, but they are not going to be good for  _ them. _

Not that their body seems to notice the difference between a good and a bad tentacle right now and even with how foggy their mind is they can’t help but wonder if that’s a side effect of whatever drug-like substance is pumped into their system or an ingrained reaction of their body.

They can feel themself harden, blood rushing downwards, and their nipples are already as hard as tiny pebbles. The tentacle probing at their hole grows slimy, and Cel wished they had a way to determine whether it's the same substance filling their mouth or something else. They suppose they should at least be glad that the Kraken has at least some sense to not push inside them without lubrication. 

They nearly regret that thought when the tentacle does push inside them without preparation, unyielding and hard and too wide, and it keeps pushing and another sob wrings itself out of their throat, past the tentacle still stuck there. 

Some of the earlier tendrils resurface, teasing the underside of their tongue and the roof of their mouth, while the main strand pushes further down their throat. As if it wants to meet the other one in the middle of their body. Another flicker of panic races through their mind, but just as the thought passes the tentacle retreats back, allowing for more broken, wet sobs to pass through their sore throat. The one in their ass does not grant them the same reprieve, as it still keeps pushing, slowly and deliberately and so wide already, the stretch painful but not yet painful enough for it to mean something ruptured.

The tentacles surrounding their body keep them steady in the air, holding them so they can't move away from any of the intrusions, one for each leg winding around their ankles and up to their upper thighs, more twisting around around their forearm curling up around their biceps and under their shoulder, yet another around their waist.

Cel twitches when the tentacle around their waist curls further around them, one strand of it splitting off like a tree branch and curling down lower. More tendrils form along the way and they can feel them tickling along their skin, wrapping around their cock and below their balls, toying with them. 

Maybe the tentacles are not separate appendages from the head of the Kraken, maybe it's all just one thing that is branching out, shaping itself to whichever form it pleases, or whichever form it has been programmed to. 

They twitch again and it jostles the tentacle still exploring them from the inside and then something twists, deep and good and the noise that escapes their mouth is between a sob and a moan. And that definitely is not good because it makes the appendage in their mouth unfold again, press down into their throat, except it retracts itself shortly after only to repeat the motion.

Fucking their mouth, Cel thinks with a hint of foggy hysteria. At least now the tentacle below stops splitting them open more and mirrors the motion of the one in their mouth. It's agony, but whatever is in that fluid that is now coating the insides of their throat and their ass, it’s also making them feel perversely  _ good. _

The slick slide of both the tentacles is obscene to their ears, the wet, squelching sound so loud to them they can barely hear anything else. The only thing worse is the noises coming from their own mouth, the high keens and broken sobs and desperate moans as the tentacles hit just right, just there, as the tendrils around their cock and balls curl just so, milking them, as the suction cups attached to their breast shift and tug at their sensitive nipples.

It's the shift of the tendrils along their legs, pulling them open even wider, allowing the other tentacle another angle to slide into them, that sends them over the edge. Before they can catch their breath more of the liquid floods their mouth, making them sputter before they can swallow it down, the amount of it making their head spin almost immediately. 

With their position shifted they can look down, see the black tar-like substance running down their torso and dripping down between their legs, mixing with their own come. Their gag reflex nearly rears itself again, but the liquid spilling down their throat and out of their mouth suppresses it perfectly.

The tentacles still don't retreat. Instead they can feel another one nudging at their entrance. Their body would freeze up in panic, but instead it's only their mind, their body limp and no longer under their control, the new tentacle sliding inside them effortlessly. Cel gurgles out a panicked no, but it's lost between the slick sounds of the tentacles and their sobs. They can't even panic any more when they feel the tendrils toying with their cock - hard still despite their orgasm - nudging at the tiny hole there.

And then the last coherent thought they have for several hours until the Kraken tires of them is whether or not this is just a simple bodily response of the Kraken to a new environment, an unknown element, a programmed reaction or if it just likes playing with them. 

If they are an experiment or a toy.


End file.
